


Nothing Left to Burn

by sanidine



Series: Prompts & Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Category: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Royal Rumble 2016, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanidine/pseuds/sanidine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two in the morning on the road between Orlando and Miami, and Dean Ambrose goes looking for trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left to Burn

“Ro. Hey, Ro. Roman wake up.”

The trainers had said that Roman didn't have a concussion, that it was okay to let him sleep, which was a damn good thing because sleep was just about all that Roman had done in the hour since they'd left the stadium in Orlando. Dean stayed his hand, hovering it over the center console instead of reaching over and shaking Roman like he wanted to. Concussion or no, Dean's brother was hurting and Dean didn't think that Roman would be pleased if Dean started to shake him around or poke him in the ribs.

“Rome.” Dean tried again, then hardened his voice. “Roman. Get up.”

Roman raised his head from where it had been lying against the window, blinked blearily at Dean. He looked pretty out of it, but Dean didn't miss the way his hands tightened on his thighs. Tendons strained, knuckles going white.

“What? What's happening?”

“How’re ya feeling big guy?”

Roman let his head thump back against the window, closed his eyes. “How do you think?”

“Like shit, in more ways‘n one.” That earned Dean a sliver of a smile, but it wasn't a happy one. He hesitated, then pressed on “If you're feeling that bad I think I can score you some pills here. Oxys, or -”

“Dean. No. Stay away from that shit.” Well at least Roman had his eyes open again, rubbing his forehead and squinting at Dean. “Where's ‘here’ anyway?”

“Yeehaw Junction.”

“Oh for Christ's sake-”

“What? We needed gas, and you know I love the Stuckey’s.” It was true, Dean had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the place. Whenever he passed through this stretch of Florida on the indie circuit  he would make whoever he was riding with stop there. Not that it was anything special, a gas station C-store in the middle of nowhere filled with kitschy Florida memorabilia, but it was just. Stuckey’s. One of the last ones in existence. A bona fide endangered species. (Back in their SHIELD days, Dean had pitched a fit every time to make Roman pull over. Roman, who was a heretic who had no taste and no appreciation for the Old Fashioned Pecan Log Roll. Seth would always -)

“You want me to get you some snacks?” Dean asked “T-shirt? Bobble head alligator?”

Roman didn't even chuckle, just crossed his arms over his chest and buried his face back between the headrest and the window. “Nah. I'm good.”

After he'd topped off the gas tank, Dean had pulled the car over into the parking lot of the abandoned gas station down the road from the Stuckey’s. Left the engine running but shut off all the lights, the nondescript little rental car huddled at the edge of the lot where the crumbling blacktop gave way to weeds and palmetto plants, where the remains of a chain link fence were caving inwards in a parabolic swoop. Most of the roster would be traveling through here tonight, Dean knew, and it wouldn't do for the Authority or the League of Assholes to come across Roman waiting at the gas pumps, alone and undefended. Sure, the chances of someone hostile pulling up in the five minutes it would take for Dean to piss and grab some chips was low, but still. Couldn't be too careful, not after the way things had gone at the Rumble.

It was a bit of a walk back over to the Stuckey’s, but it gave Dean a chance to stretch his legs, shake out his shoulders, to feel the soreness that was settling deep into his core as he crunched along the gravel shoulder of the road. He had to wait for the bathroom, glared after the trucker who came ambling out without flushing the toilet. Two in the morning turned everyone into an asshole, at least those who weren't already assholes all the time (like Dean). When he got done washing his hands he went to wipe them off on his shirt, but recoiled at his own touch, hissing in surprise.

Dean hadn't exactly stopped to look at himself in the mirror after the Rumble, focused as he was on making sure that Roman was okay and getting the hell out of there. So when he hiked up his shirt in front of the mirror he blinked, taking in the mess of bruising on his torso. Dean never bruised easy, as if his body knew that begging for mercy was useless, but Owens had really gone after him good. There were long purpling lines across his ribs where the edge of a chair had caught him repeatedly, and when Dean turned to look over his shoulder his back was a mess. The hand that wasn't hiking his tank top up to his armpit slid around, questing over the marks until he reached the darkest one he could see. Right under the shoulder blade. Dean dug his finger tips in, hard, and his vision starred out a little around the edges at the raw, pulpy pain. He exhaled, shaky, pulled his hand away from his shoulder only to reach down and press his thumb into one of the marks low on his ribcage. Dean took a deep breath as the pain laced into him, pressed deeper and meaner into the bruise until he could feel the hurt in his neck, in his thighs, in his useless fucking heart.

He finished drying his hands on his shirt, then, stretching out the cheap material and leaving dark damp splotches that looked like a different kind of bruise. Dean went back out into the Stuckey’s, breathing free and even. He got the biggest fountain soda he could and some sour cream chips and two gatorades and a bag of beef jerky and a couple of candy bars and then - once he had set that haul down on the counter in front of the unimpressed clerk - two handfuls of moonpies from the display next to the register. The woman behind the counter didn't say anything, just looked at him blandly until Dean scowled and dug his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it on the counter “I can pay for my fucking snacks, alright?” With a noncommittal noise, like she wasn't sure if his wallet was just a decoy (not too many years ago it might have been), the clerk started scanning, barcodes beeping across the scanner while Dean tapped his toe under the ugly fluorescent lights. 

Then there was the sound of a car door slamming shut, and Dean glanced out towards the gas pumps on instinct. Kept staring, and the blood pounding in his ears was all of a sudden the loudest thing in the store as his heart picked up speed. Because there was Kevin Owens, ugly as the day was long, frowning at nothing as he jacked the gas handle into the tank of his car and turned around to stab at the keypad, giving Dean a view of his back, the broad shoulders Dean had put through two tables earlier that night.

Dean’s attention never left Owens, even as he swiped his card through the machine. The cashier swept all of his snacks into a plastic bag and Dean snatched it from her as soon as he could, letting the handles of it settle in the crook of his elbow as he grabbed his soda with the same hand

“Thanks, doll.” Dean dug around in the bag, snagged one of the moonpies, tore the plastic wrapper off in his teeth and spat it on the floor of the Stuckey’s. He turned his back on the look of disgust the clerk shot him, mind already a million miles away. The top graham cracker peeled away under his teeth, leaving the chocolate covering jagged and exposing the marshmallow filling. Dean swallowed it without bothering to chew. He was outside the store then, standing under the yellow security lights that threw his shadow over the hood of Owens’ car. It seemed that Owens was driving alone, not paying much attention to his surroundings because he didn't even check over his shoulder when the bells on the door jingled at Dean’s exit. Owens just kept his back turned to Dean as he watched the numbers ticking up on the gas pump. Beginners mistake.

Dean took a sip of the soda, washing down the graham cracker, before breathing in deep through his nose and blowing a lung full of bubbles into the drink. Owens turned at the noise, just in time to see Dean slap the hand with the moonpie in it onto the windshield of the car. Dean paused just long enough to shoot Owens the most shit-eating grin in the universe. Then he swung his hand wide to wipe a large arc of marshmallow filling, graham cracker chunks, and little shards of chocolate across the glass.

“Ambrose?” From the look on his face, Owens didn't know whether to be confused or enraged. “What the fuc-”

Dean took one last sip of his cherry coke before he popped the lid off in his teeth and splashed the rest of the soda across the front of the car. Owens was fast enough that he was able to jump back and avoid the sticky sweet tsunami wave headed straight for him, but his heels caught on the concrete lip of the island and he fumbled back against the gas pump. Dean laughed, once, pointed and mean, before he dropped the empty cup and ran.

“Come back here you fucking white trash piece of shit!”

Dean didn’t bother to check if Owens was following him, just cut a wide arc around the islands in the parking lot before darting across the highway. There was only one pair of headlights in the distance, too far away to be any danger, which was a good thing because Dean had never really been a ‘look both ways before crossing the street’ type of guy. Running along the side of the highway, Dean felt his eyes adjusting to the dimness as he made a beeline for the shuttered trailer up the road. The signs said that during the day it sold discounted tickets to all of Orlando’s favorite attractions, but Dean had never actually seen it open. He had to vault over a low chain link fence before he ran around the back of the trailer, turned and waiting for Owens. The air in his lungs was cool and humid and Dean could hear the cicadas singing out in the swampy area beyond the thick stand of trees that surrounded the lot.

For a second Dean wondered if Owens had given up and abandoned the chase, which would have been a disappointment. Then he thought he heard something rattle and snuck over to peer around the edge of the building, only to fall to his knees when the elbow came down hard between his shoulder blades. Owens must have seen what Dean was planning and circled around to get the drop on him, because there he was, foot lashing out and catching Dean in the ribs, flipping him onto his side. Dean rolled with the momentum, little bits of rock and shards of glass pressing into his palms as he righted himself, ducking a punch before lashing out and catching Owens in the gut. They circled each other, both breathing hard and, when Dean realized that Owens had turned them so that Dean had his back to the trailer, he surged forward, locking up with Owens like they were in the ring and the match had just started. Owens lunged into Dean’s attack, the momentum pushing Dean back a couple of steps before Owens slipped his arm out of the hold and caught Dean around the throat. 

_ Yes. _

Dean let Owens manhandle him back the last couple of feet until Dean felt his back slam into the side of the building, both of them breathing hard. Dean’s head was tilted back and the whole world shrunk to the hot point of contact where Owens’ palm pressed against his windpipe, the vee between thumb and fingers digging in up and under Dean’s jawbone.

“I don’t. Have time. For your shit.” Owens grit out, pressing himself flush against Dean like it was a threat instead of exactly what Dean wanted. Dean opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a rough gasp for air and he grinned, feral. Stopped trying to breathe at all. If Dean looked past Owens’ furious face he could see the luminous full moon hanging low in the sky. Starting to go black at the edges.

He could see it then, all around him. The kaleidoscope of miles and miles of open road, of Coke bottles full of gasoline and orange hypodermic caps in piles of snow, worn-smooth sea glass and fresh contrails of blood and brain matter smeared out to center of the spiral, and there was Dean in the middle of it. Dean, who was exactly the type of worthless fuck up who would leave his best friend sleeping off his injuries in an abandoned parking lot while Dean wandered off to get fucked out behind a single-wide trailer in the middle of central Florida. 

The pressure on Dean’s windpipe let up a little bit, then, even as Owens dug his fingertips in harder and rocked Dean’s head back so it cracked against the side of the building. Not hard enough to rattle his brains, just enough to draw his attention back to Owens. Dean took a deep breath and the black smoke on the edge on his vision receded. More bruises to add to his collection. But if Owens didn't want him getting bored, he was going to have to give Dean something better to focus on. Odd enough that they still both had all their clothes. Dean had figured that all he would have to do was get Owens pissed off and alone, but despite the choking and the fact that they were pressed together from chests to knees Owens didn't seem too committed to moving things along. Fine.

“What, your ex boyfriend is back and now you can't make time for me?” Dean’s voice was hoarse and mocking, and he licked his lips and rocked his hips forward, grinned again at the sudden look of surprised disgust on Owens’ face. Not sure if that look was directed at him or just at the thought of Sami Zayn. Owens moved back so that Dean couldn't grind against him anymore, but kept the hand curled around Dean’s throat. He could hear his voice getting rougher as he continued “C’mon, you really wanna choke me out before we even get to the good part?”

Something must have finally clicked for Owens, because he spun Dean around, letting go of his throat to grab his hips and shove him into the wall. Dean went with it, brought up his hands to brace his forearms against the vinyl siding of the trailer so his nose didn't get smashed, didn't fight back even though he could have slipped the hold in about a second.

“This what you want, huh?” Owens was breathing hard, harder than he had been after the run from the Stuckey’s. “You want me to knock you around.”

If the flatness of Owens’ voice was anything to go by it wasn't really meant to be a question but Dean replied anyways, “Yeah” like it was the simplest thing in the world “Duh.”

All of a sudden Dean was breathing hard, too, fast and shallow and it didn't have anything to do with the run or the choking. Dean took one arm off the side of the trailer reached behind himself blindly, hand finding Owens’ hip and slipping up under the fabric of his shirt to dig his fingertips into the yielding  flesh beneath. Owens growled, knocked his hand away and surged forward to pressing his body up against Dean. One of Owens’ meaty hands came up and pinned Dean’s forearm against the trailer, the other one smacking him on the ass before it came around Dean’s side, snaking under his armpit to wrap back around his throat. Not really squeezing, just the threat of pressure, and Owens’ teeth found a patch of skin between his collar and his neck and bit down.

“Fuck.” Dean’s hips bucked forward of their own accord, trying to find something to rub off on even as Dean swung the elbow on his free arm back to catch Owens in the side. “Watch the teeth you fucking vampire.”

Owens grunted at the impact, stopped biting and let go of his grip on Dean’s throat, and for a half second Dean thought he had fucked it all up. Then two fingers were shoved into his mouth, the blunt nails glancing off his teeth before Dean opened up. Owens’ fingers didn't taste like much, just skin and sweat, and as Owens pressed down on the back of his tongue, making him gag, saliva flooding his mouth, Dean wondered how much thicker Owens’ cock would be if he got the chance to get down on his knees and taste it.

“Is this why you went after my belt? The rest of the roster got bored with fucking you, so you just had to piss me off?”

Owens seemed to get a little annoyed that Dean wasn't answering him before he remembered that Dean's mouth was full. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, and Dean’s blood was humming as he heard the other man pull down his pants. 

“I took your belt because you're a piece of shit.” Dean griped, even as he undid his jeans one handed and fumbled for the zipper.  “You're lucky I even look at you, let alone let you fuck me.”

Some type of big vehicle passed by on the highway, the rumble of it shaking Dean’s teeth a little even if he couldn't see it, the whine of the engine loud as it downshifted. Then Owens knocked Dean off balance, shoving him forward so that  he stumbled and his face slammed into the side of the trailer. Dean didn't even get to finish pushing his pants down before Owens yanked them down past his knees and crooked the two wet fingers into him without preamble.

It hurt like fuck, the raw rough stretch of it, but it wasn't painful. Not in a bad way, at least. The hand that wasn't spreading Dean open was still locked around one of his wrists, grinding the bones together, and that was almost good enough. Dean kinda wanted Owens to put his other hand back around his throat and choke him a little bit more, but he didn't want to be fucking pathetic enough to just come out and ask for it. He arched back against Owens, panting through grit his teeth as he started to jerk himself off in time.

“Come on, fuck, it's fine. I'm good, you can, fuck-” Dean’s words failed him as Owens speared his fingers into his ass, all the way up to the palm, crooking them in a way that made Dean see stars.

“Are you kidding?” Owens laughed, mean. “I'm not going to fuck you raw. Who knows where you've been.”

The small part of Dean that still had pride wanted to punch Owens, to spin around and spit in his face, but the rest of him just moaned, pressed his forehead harder against the side of the trailer as he jerked himself faster, thumb pressing up under the head, spreading the slick precome around and sending tremors down his spine. He could feel Owens’ dick rubbing up against his ass and he pressed back into it, listening to the rough catch of breath. 

The hand that had been locked around Dean’s wrist was gone for a second but then it was back, fisting up in his hair without warning and gripping, pulling tight. Dean cried out hoarse and low, expecting Owens to mock him for it but not expecting the way that the two fingers in him were roughly pulled out, leaving him feeling open and wet. Distantly, Dean wondered if he might be bleeding some, didn't stop to worry about it - wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. Then Dean felt the wide press against his hole as Owens guided his cock there. Not fucking him, just barely pushing the tip of it into his ass while Owens stroked himself, words bursting out of him all of a sudden like the floodgates had broken

“Let me, just, fuck -” Owens panted in his ear, the hot point of contacts between them burning in counterpoint to the cool night air. Owens didn't, though, didn't fuck him for real even though Dean was gasping for it, pushing back against the burning tease of the cock head inside of him. “Fuck, Ambrose, fuck you”

The hand wrapped up in his hair pulled even tighter, forcing Dean forward like he wasn't already pressed up against the wall, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, grit his teeth against the perfect spike of pain. Then Dean could feel Owens coming. The hot, filthy splash of semen inside of him, spilling out from around the tip of Owens’ dick and dripping out of his hole, onto his thighs, and it finally sent Dean over the edge. He came with a grunt, striping the side of the trailer and shivering all over at the loss of contact once Owens pulled away from him.

Dean didn't bother to open his eyes, much less look behind himself, as he heard Owens fumbling with his clothes. With his free arm still braced against the side of the trailer, Dean just kept his eyes closed, letting his breathing slow down and even out, as he listened to the sounds of Owens pulling himself together, walking away without another word to Dean. It was only when he was sure that Owens had left that Dean reached down to wipe off some of the mess from between his legs. He glanced at his fingers, grimaced, wiped them off carelessly onto the vinyl siding before pulling his jeans back up. 

He waited a little longer, hunted around in the weedy parking lot until he finally found his bag of snacks where he had dropped them. Dean tore into the bag of chips and devoured the entire thing in only a few big, salty handfuls while he looked up at the sky, feeling sore and empty, not thinking about anything in particular. There were another two and a half hours of turnpike between there and Miami, more fights waiting in the light of day. Figuring that one more piece of trash wouldn't make things any worse, Dean dropped the empty bag on the side of the highway behind him as he walked back to where Roman was waiting for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted this with the wrong name, whoops. I'm always a slut for Doritos/comments/kudos!
> 
> [tumblr ](http://www.bingitoff.Tumblr.com)  
>  


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